


Wish Come True

by orphan_account



Series: ConAllen [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, anyway, god i love. allen, it's cute y'all, your rarepairs can't be rare if i write them all the time. fuck off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 20:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14961896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There were things Allen wanted that he wasn't sure he could have anymore. Things like a domestic lifestyle, or even just a taste of it.





	Wish Come True

Domestic situations. He never really thought about them. They seemed too distant, untouchable, and invincible compared to him. Domestic meant home, and home meant having someone to come back to. Two people in love equate to a field of twisters, ravaging the world of its life and sending it to the heavens. A synchronized unit capable of unimaginable things. A series of events unpredicted until it occurs.

Allen stopped dreaming of having a domestic lifestyle after he dedicated himself to the police force, which ultimately ended up with him being in the SWAT team, too.

He knows it’s possible, to live like that even with his job description, but that wishful thinking began to leave with each person he failed to save on a mission. Whether it be direct or indirect casualties, a domino effect leading for a life to be loss, or even some animal that had to face death because of misfortune putting it in the wrong place at the wrong time — that wishful thinking that gave him hope, that gave him a chance to believe he could have a family and live peacefully; it withered.

It _died_.

But, not _forever_ , because he had one out of two key components that made a domestic situation, _domestic._

Allen had a house, the issue was that it was empty, devoid of life albeit the furniture occupying its spaces. Everything felt cold to the touch, covered and enveloped by dust in some areas, others were accompanied by spiders. His house was devoid of life, but brimming with potential. He was so close to attaining the lifestyle he used to wish for.

Allen hadn’t realized until recently that he returned home to nobody.

He worked hard for himself. He strived to improve and to grow for himself. To take on missions and leave successful for the sake of families, friends, but families and friends of those affected by the situation. He gave to others what he made for himself, the reward was satisfaction in knowing that his training and hard work paid off.

He wonders when that stopped being enough motivation to feel warm when he returns from active duty.

“ Captain Allen, you’re up earlier than you scheduled for me to wake you. Did you do that on purpose? “ Connor. The android’s voice was an unwavering pitch below Allen’s own, and that was something he found intriguing. The way Connor spoke was with designated clarity and fluidness, but there retained a raspiness that didn’t at all interfere. “ How long have you been awake? “

“ A while. “ Was all he said. And Allen’s voice contrasted, like a snake in a flower field, or a gray-face in a crowd of Connor’s entrancing hazel eyes. Allen spoke stiffly, direct and sometimes in a cryptic manner by default, and the baritone he possessed was an additional cutting edge. He proceeded: “ How long were you awake but waiting for the correct hour to approach before you actually activated? “

“ A while.” Connor threw back, disappearing briefly into the hallway.

Oh, he should’ve known. That’s what he gets for being vaguely blunt.

Allen didn’t bask in the dawnlight like Connor chose to, there was no longer beauty in the warm rays. After blood coated his vision and the lens flare bled his eyes dry of color, he saw differently. There was no longer anything beautiful about the rage rolling off the sun as it pushed away the night, blinding protrusions suffocating the dark blue, reclaiming its throne in the vast, oblivion of a sky.

The light caresses and clings onto his body as he moves, bones making a sickening yet satisfying crack, and skin flaunting off thick scars. Connor returns, gazing on from the door, fingers interwoven with the soft, dark-gray fleece of a turtleneck.

As far as Allen is concerned, work wasn’t going to be calling him for a while. So as he takes a second to slip into tapered, black jeans, he leaned over to utter a swift thank-you while he playfully collides a shoulder with the android. His fingers nab the article of clothing like a thieving cat, and he shamelessly makes an appearance in the living-room; his hair is askew, turtleneck half-way on, and weariness ever present in his visage.

He’s visually a mess, but Connor should be used to seeing Captain Allen like this by now. However, the title of a Captain didn’t mean anything outside of the workforce, and Connor knew that — which is why Allen finds it amusing when the android insists on calling him that in lieu of David, his first name.

It’s either due to his programming, or a reluctance to realize that Allen is a flawed human being when he isn’t deathly perfection in a work environment. Could also be both, but they’ve made adjustments to properly adapt to one another — everything works out regardless because Allen doesn’t throw Connor out onto the streets and Connor? Well;

There’s a mug filled to the brim with pitch-black coffee, it’s most likely made the way Allen wants it — no sugar and no cream, just pure coffee as dark and grueling as possible. The mug rests on the living room table, vulnerable to any grabbing hands that may want it, and Allen has never been faster when he slides into the chair.

Connor makes a contemplative hum when he does so, watching with intrigue the delight filling his eyes as the first taste of bitterness overwhelms his palette. Allen flicks a pensive glance to him, tracing the outline of the approaching figure before refocusing back to nothingness. They were no harm to each other even if they were both weapons, figuratively speaking.

Iron pupils observe hazel eyes seat itself into the chair across from him, legs cross and posture proper; “ I don’t understand what you humans find so euphoric about caffeine. Or, is it just an Allen thing? “

Allen smirks, the action covered up by the mug he holds to block the sight, though, he has an odd, tingly feeling in his chest that tells him Connor already saw. Or at least knew. That’s alright.

He takes another long sip of the coffee, and the words pour out with a scoff: “ An “ Allen thing “? Are you fucking serious? What’s an “ Allen thing “, Connor? “

Connor’s LED flickers through all its hues, hanging onto red the longest but finally settling back into blue. Allen’s attention pauses on the mimicked skin as it lights up with a thirium blush. He quirked an eyebrow but lets the other speak.

Connor has his arm propped up on the table, head resting against the palm of his hand.

His voice comes out unsteady but gradually strengthens into something of reassurance and fondness; “ Well, an Allen or… maybe I should say, a _David_ thing is sleeping in only boxers while it’s snowing throughout the night; setting up an alarm clock just to wake up earlier than the scheduled time; walking into the living-room half-naked while the window curtains are pulled open, and somehow finding a balance between being professional and a complete mess. “

“ That is, most definitely, things I do. “ Allen’s smile fails to be hidden and Connor returns it even if he didn’t need to.

And it was here when Allen saw something, when he felt something, something different but wished for and wanted — the teasing back and forth that continued afterwards, how they sassed the other about their habits and gestures but with a light-hearted atmosphere; the tranquil silence that engulfs them later, Connor closing his eyes to review the schedule and Allen finishing his coffee.

They autonomously fall into a routine, but it was _their_ routine. Connor sweeps the dust off of everything Allen neglects, and Allen goes to cook for himself.

“ You know what else is a David thing? “ Connor asks from outside the kitchen.

“ What? “

“ Falling in love with an android, expressing all the body language to confess, and then _not_ confessing! “

Allen smiles at the two eggs sitting inside the frying pan, his eyes pinch with crow’s feet, and his laughter bleeds into what he says: “ Okay Connor, I fucking love you but shut the fuck up. “

Another thought comes to mind, and it’s about how oddly domestic this situation is, how everything seems to come together at this moment; Allen has all the key components to make a domestic situation, _domestic_. His house is now a home with the warmth occupying it, and he has Connor to think about as he returns from work. This was domestic, just like Allen had always wished for.

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie, I hate this -- anyway, my tumblr's @RK-900 if you need me!


End file.
